A sharp dressed man tried to hide his nerves as he mentally checked the safety on his Smartlink. The Pat down was less thorough than he expected when he boarded the yacht from his rented fishing boat. His employer meeting with him in person was unexpected, and unsettling. A thick man in a white suit sat on the deck, surrounded by armed men. He spoke with a slight Spanish accent,"I suppose you know why I'm here" The guest tried to tell himself that everything was all right. He was here to help. They were going to work together to get this straight. None of this was his fault. He was a valuable asset. He looked into the eyes of the man in front of him, and he knew. The Beretta 200 was in burst fire mode. His wired reflexes were grabbing the pistol as soon as it ejected from his leg. The man in front of him was still in mid blink, as the reticle in his cyber eye locked on. But in the midst of this frenzy, there was a faint sound. a low ringing, and a splitting of air. He never saw the blade that separated his head from his shoulders, and as his world spun to darkness he thought, whoever was behind him was damn good.

HekaSomewhere, in a night of drunken debauchery, a message was left in Heka's comm,<<This is Rachel Vance, You've bought some items from me recently. Anyway, theres a new player in town who's looking for magic types. Supposed to be serious work for serious cred, so I'm passing the word along. If you're interested, Ive got details>>

LeftyWhen Lefty met with Lenny to get resupplied with ammo, He told Lefty about a job opportunity tomorrow night. The rumor mill said it was big time, next level kind of stuff. He gave him a time and some coordinates in case he was interested.

ProfessorA message from Zoltan flashes on the Professor's comm<<Not to distract you from your quest, But theres a large gathering of talent going down. you could could use some more connections, not to mention the cred involved>>

OttoSalman Sime is yelling at Otto, and Otto hadn't quite realized that he had answered his com,"Are you drunk? I'm trying to talk business. If you want to pay some bills, don't miss the boat. Literally. I know you need this, can you pull yourself together by tomorrow?"

Oswald<<(Mission Control@Oswald) I bear good news. I have found a group of rebels gathering offshore. they are establishing a foothold in this area and need assistance. this my be a valuable tool in saving our ship. They may speak in code, for they can trust no one. If you can record the meeting, I can help make sense of it. Here are the coordinates where there vessel will be waiting tomorrow night>>

CaperA new voice mail from Koala, this time a breathy Spanish female,"Are you in the mood for something a little different? I could really use you on this job.I can promise a big pay off. I've attached a file with the details "

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Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Commander Shankles read the text three times, encoding the relevant positioning data into his exceptional memory before wiping all trace of it from his computer banks.Hrmm.. Rebels again. Hope they fair better than the last... batch? I can't seem to... to... To action!

"Danny! Roll out the cannon so we can slap it on the sky-pod. Then get your ass over here so I can stuff you full of explosives! You're going to be my emissary!""..mmmm-dammit-Riggs-if-you-want-to-get-yourself-killed-go-ahead-but-leave-me-out-of-it-mmm..""No dice."

Professor stretched himself after hours of fruitless research. The irony of The Blind Man's moniker was never so evident as when Professor ran up against yet another false lead. He mused, "It's the rest of us who are blind."

Zoltan's message came through, and Professor replied immediately. <<@Zoltan: Sure thing. I'm at a dead end at the moment anyway. Send me time and location and any other details you have.>>

The dwarf carefully extricated himself from the tangle of limbs in the bed, and shambled over to where his bathrobe was hanging. He slipped it on and headed towards the kitchen, idly scratching at a nugget of white powder hanging at his nostril. It had been some pretty good stuff.

He set up the drones for breakfast and began looking for his comm to scan the morning news while the soykaf percolated. He finally found it in the pocket of his jacket, hanging on the back of the chair--he couldn't quite remember when they got home last night, but apparently he'd been in too much of a rush to hang his clothes properly. They were discarded in a trail to the bedroom. I'll have to get this suit pressed, he thought idly, working the glasses onto his face and bringing up his comm messages. He saw one from Rachel--odd, since she rarely contacted him--and brought it up.

Serious work? Well that wasn't too interesting. If he'd wanted "serious" work he'd have stayed a corp puppet. But serious cred? That was a different story. Heka thought it over for a moment, then shrugged to himself and dialed Rachel's commcode.

Lefty thanked Lenny, and made a note on his commlink to attend the meeting. Cred was starting to get a little thin, but he wasn't going to tell his fence that. He didn't want to start getting 5 cents on the 'yen on gear just because he was desperate. He kicked his bike into gear, and went home to watch some trid and wait for the meeting tomorrow.

Otto nonchalantly waves the remainder of a double scotch at the barman, making the ice chink to catch attention. The barman nods and begins to retrieve an unlabeled bottle from the bottom shelf.

"I don't have that many bills to pay and more, Shalman." Otto replies, his slurring noticeably even through the sub-vocal pickup of the comlink on his ear."You still have a bar tab," Salman reminds him. Otto hangs his head, looking down at his scuffed brown shoes and sighs heavily. "I'm sending you the meeting details. Clean yourself up, be there and at least act sober."

"Screw you." Otto says out loud causing the barman to stop pouring and give a disapproving look. Otto shakes his head, waves at his ear and then points to the glass.

"I'll take that as a yes." Salman says before dropping the connection.

Hans sat eyes glazed over while he listened to the message. Someday he'd have to meet Koala face to face and buy him, er her, or it. Whatever it was a bottle of beer or whatever for tipping him off to get out of London when he did.... I've attached a file with details."

Hans trashes the voicemail and returns his attention to the AR window in front of him describing the history of the piece. It appears that is was made by a displaced Sasquatch of a name he could pronounce if he wanted to but skimmed over anyway. This isn't really his bag but it paid to keep an eye on the scene. It was mostly sticks, mud and what appear to be the small bones of birds plastered in a vortex circling in to frame a single piece of styrofoam cut to the shape of a man. He opened up the attached file over it, Ohhh, a boat. Nothing like being a captive audience that can be thrown over board if you start trouble, or if it's a trap. No, Koala stayed above that, better than I did...still.

"I don't like this...", he muttered and a woman in a sleek black dress, hair up tight in the librarian bun shot him a severe look and returned, "Well then maybe you should leave and go someplace with flashy neon bullshit that doesn't tap into the metahuman consciousness!". Hans gaped at her for a second and considered telling her he wasn't talking about the picture, but he may as well have been so he shrugged put his hands behind his freshly shaved head and padded out the door trying to bring up a map of the sound and wondering how far he could swim if he had to.

Professor stepped out into the typical acidic drizzle of a Seattle evening, turned up the collar of his coat, and hailed a robo-cab. The tingling sensation in the nape of his neck was strong tonight. He decided to do a little evasion to see if he could drop any tail that might be following him. Cab, bus, subway, backtrack with cab, walk some back alleys to his condo. It felt as if he had shaken whatever was bothering him... the tingling was almost gone. What a life. Hunter becomes hunted.

Once at home, he checked the building security, made sure blinds were closed, and poured himself a stiff scotch to help him think. Meeting on a boat in the Sound? Chummer, that's the way to buy a one-way ticket. He figured he would do some investigation in the morning. Now all he had to do was calm down enough to sleep. That was getting more difficult the closer he felt he was to the Blind Man. "This city is his base. I can feel it."

Early morning, Professor's condo

He rose after a relatively short but deep sleep, ate a frugal breakfast, and set to work. "'El Viajero', huh? Let's see..."Professor searched for information on a vessel by that name. Owner, registration, itinerary... whatever.

The hanging fluorescent lights overhead bowed out to the sides, being forced away by the mass of the small armored dirigible roped in place from ceiling to floor. The alternating stripes of white and black created around the blimp seemed not inappropriate to the beleaguered scientist at the moment."This stinks."Oswald pushed himself out from under the hanging drone, rolling until he lay near the ever-waiting manservant drone he liked to call Danny."Danny help me up.""...mmm-whatever-you-say-chief-mmm..." the robot hummed back.

The frail little robot bent down and grabbed Oswald from under his arms, then pulled the elderly man upright, sending the rolling board on which he lay sliding some few feet behind."Ahhh, dammit, Danny. It's too god damned dark under that monstrosity! Grab some work lamps off the back shelf while I get more coffee."

Oswald walked stiffly over to the makeshift kitchen area in what must have once been the warehouse's break room. The work had not been going well. Oswald had managed to rip the rigger cocoon out of his Rover 2068 with no problems, but he was getting frustrated with his efforts to attach it to the GTS Tower drone. The thing obviously wasn't designed for hanging operation. That wasn't going to stop Ozzy though. Oswald was good like MacGyver - like double MacGyver. He was going to make this thing happen... eventually. But first..

"Coffee," he barked wearily at the kitchen's Soy Processing Unit. "Black as a country sky."The little machine burbled and spit as it produced yet another nauseating cup of Soykaff, bitter as the man himself."Fake-ass planet with its fake-ass coffee..." Oswald groaned outwardly. This weaksauce beverage wasn't going to cut it. He turned toward the door and yelled,"Danny! Leave the lights there! I need you to drive to the store and pick up some some Go Pills!""..mmm-come-on-Riggs-jump-in-the-car-mmm.." the robot hummed distantly.Oswald got up and walked to the door, moving still towards where the SUV was parked and the ever-obedient drone was headed."Oh, is poor Danny too scared to go to the store by his 'ittle self? Fine fine. I'll come along. I need to get out of here anyway. Come back at this with a fresh start. All this wasted time, I'm not going to be able to prep you up with the explosives.""...mmm-I'm-gonna-be-a-grandfather-mmm..." the robot hummed, as deadpan as ever."Don't celebrate too much, Danny. I'm taking the passenger seat. You sit on the floor."

Well wasn't this just so very interesting. A boat in the middle of the Sound, late at night, with active jamming. This certainly was not your typical meet. Which, on one hand, was just fine; Heka hated "typical." But on the other hand, if things went completely to shit then it could end up being a very bad night indeed. He deliberated it over most of the day, finally deciding to go for it. He hadn't pissed anyone off badly enough to want to drown him in the Sound... so although the Johnson was paranoid, he wasn't out specifically to get Heka. That sounded fine.

Getting out there would be easy, but magical support? Not so great. Heka didn't have a water spirit bound. Going through his things, he couldn't find any spare binding materials, and he had no cash available to buy any; he'd have to summon one up before the meet and go without binding. Tsk tsk.

With those considerations out of the way, it was down to the last important bit of planning: what to wear. Well the Ulysses will keep me warm, but if I end up having to swim my way home--Heaven forbid!--it'll drag me down. But the Synergist would just be seen as trying too hard. Maybe if I take these trousers with this shirt...

Scanning through the Matrix was turning up some interesting stuff on this boat, but nothing of any apparent use. Aside from the Obvious Spanish translation of "the Traveller", the boat is a Harlan and Wolfe Classique III and was registered to a Julia Florez in Cal Free. The Name and SIN seem to be faked, and payments for the boat were made from a law firm called,"Durgess and Kletze". This too seems to be fake, But the front is still paying rent at a Marina in San Francisco. Actual Video feeds from the Marina show no sign of the ship being there in the last six months.

Otto is slumped unconscious on his faded and threadbare tan cordaroy couch. His shirt is half unbuttoned and his jacket lays crumpled near the front door. One shoe, laces splayed like an autopsy, clings by a thread to his right foot. His left foot is bare, its shoe lies neatly nearby with a tightly rolled sock inside. His mouth is open allowing a silver sliver of droop to trickle down his cheek and create a small damp puddle on the couch.

There is a barely audible single beep from his com unit signifying his wake up alarm. Otto doesn't move.

Three seconds later there is another beep. Still no movement.

Three seconds later, the beep is louder and more insistent, continuing to beep every second. Five seconds later, the beep would be audible from the hallway and still Otto has not moved.

Eighteen months ago, not long after his wife walked out, Otto found himself sleeping through his morning alarm. After the third time being late to a meeting he decided he needed something a little more reliable.

Fifteen seconds after the very first beep, with no response from the user, the com unit alarm calls a private subroutine. Otto's body spasms, his wired reflexes firing his arms and legs to flail randomly. The shoe on his right foot is flung across the room, slamming against the far wall and leaving an ugly black scar.

Otto finally reaches consciousness as his body lands on the floor. He lies there for a moment to catch his breath and allowing last remnants of the jolt awake to fade.

Pulling himself to his feet, he staggers into the bathroom.

Fauntleroy Terminal, later that same evening

The #431 Bus from Renton stops at the #17 terminal. The doors hiss open and out steps a short woman in her 50's wearing a floral dress and carrying several bags. Behind her, Otto follows looking much better. His hair is combed back and moused, giving it a wet look. His shirt is clean and newly pressed. His suit, while slightly rumpled is covered mostly by a long black greatcoat. His shoes stand out as not matching his outfit, they are still scuffed and marked with grime. Walking briskly to the pier, Otto finds the man he was looking for in his usual spot.

A simple green plastic chair sits atop a stained picnic blanket. On the seat sits an old frail man. The top of his head is bald, but he sports a long white beard flecked with a few grey lines. He wears old black suit pants and a bleached white shirt with rolled up sleeves exposing black and wrinkled hands, stained from years of shoe polish. His black loafers shine with a mirror finish.

"Good evening, George." Otto says, to the man.

"Good evening, Sir." George replies, jumping to his feet with the spring of a much younger man. "Take a seat and I'll clean those shoes right up!"

Otto settles into the chair, places his feet onto the small wooden box George pulls from under the seat and then rests his head in his hands. "I'll just have a nap while you do your work, won't be long." Otto says.

"Right you are, sir." George replies, prying a tin of shoe cleaner open.

Hans awakes in the early morning darkness made heavier still by the drapes obscuring the window leading onto the fire escape. It is the smells that bother him so much really. The city itself is vibrant enough to make the move bearable, but the smells of the sea are different here, the smells of people are different here. The omnipresent smell of garbage presses into his nostrils no matter where he goes. Sigh....I could be on my way to espresso right now with Jenn. Two blocks away from the gallery and... he recalls with a sneer the woman at Gallery SNAFU yesterday after his unintentional honesty and be somewhere I could do some of the sneering without drawing attention. Not to mention in a gallery that did more that plaster shit smears up on a wall and call it gold because they're above appreciating the masters.

He rolls out of bed in the darkness sidestepping around improvised fork and knife caltrops littering the floor. Checks the crude line behind the curtain securing the flashpak's activator. All's well. Ping. The room returns to him in stark contrast, bed piles of crap on the floor, clothes in a heap at the end of the bed, HK stuck to the wall by the window standing out....ping. Nope no one in the room but him. Makes his way to the closet, pulls the small flashlight from the top of the rack and separates the racks of cheap street clothes he picked up at the thrift store when he first got here. Clicking the light on he pans it over the back of the closet admiringly. A sketch on yellowed paper is hung there. In energetic strokes the image of a lion at rest with his head on his paws becomes illuminated. He pauses and admires it, sometimes leaning in and tracing the curve of a single brush mark in the air just above the work. Then finally he turns his nose to it, breathes deeply in the now ancient smell of the paper and ink. Closing his eyes and reveling in the scent that obliterates the paranoid days and nights of the last month he clicks the light back off and strolls to get a cup of the sofkaf brewing in the small kitchen around the corner. Ping. Clear. A smile creeps onto his now bare shaven face. Flashing neon indeed. Fucking twit.

Streets of Seattle

He spends the rest of the day jumping buses back and forth across the city and keeping his senses alert to anyone who might be conspicuously on the same random path as he is. Finally he strolls through a shabby but very alive district of theater folks on the south side of town and makes a few purchases. A shoulder length violet wig in a woman's cut, making sure it covers his ears and the bangs hang low enough to shade his eyebrows a bit. Some eye makeup, rouge and a kerchief with swirling chinese dragons adorning it. Deciding that should be enough he starts a winding path back to the buses back to the east side of the city. He decides to run a quick search on the 'trix in regards to this boat and marina

[ Spoiler ]

6d6.hits(5) → [5,1,2,4,4,4] = (1)

decides it is probably a boat and in the marina he found on the map of the city.

Hails a cab to drop him off five blocks from home where he makes quick work

It could be better he thinks admiring his profile in the mirror adjusting the fake cleavage in his jumpsuit, "And I'm a...passable bird" the high female voice helped he admitted, "You probably don't wanna be a Britt though...ahh fuck it I'm probably just being paranoid, if Koala wanted to nail ya he'd never have let you run in the first place..."

He pulled the kerchief up over the bridge of his nose and cinched the back. Checked the Morrissey with a quick touch. Fulled loaded with Gel Rounds, two spare clips of regular ammo in his side pockets. Smoke grenade in the cargo pockets. Cuffs in the other. Kill the lights loosen the HK from the wall. Ping. Still alone, piles of boxes filled with cheap glassware from the thrift store still in places around the room. What am I doing...? He slapped the HK above the door to the apartment told it to stick there and walked out the door bringing up a map of the route to the sounds, called a cab a few blocks away for ten minutes from now to drop him off at a bar about a ten minute walk from the meet, locked up the pad and out.

He sings pitch perfect as he practices his womanly sashay on the way to the cab, "And I'm singin' uh-oh on a Friday night and I hope everything's gonna be alright..."

Professor commits the plans of a Harlan and Wolfe Classique III to memory. Never know when you might have to tell what door to run through.<<@Zoltan: I'm going to need some water transport to the meet this evening. Maybe a bit of exploration beforehand too. Can you arrange for a small watercraft rental for 10 pm tonight in the Sound? I'll cover the cost.>>

Lefty pulled away from the dock slowly in the small boat he had managed to rent for this meeting. He had certainly been to odder places for a first meeting, but this one was near the top. Why go all the way out here on a boat, when a meeting like this could take place in the matrix? The concern for physical security was a bit disconcerting."Still", he thought,"At least this means when I show up they'll have something to take away."

Lefty was loaded out as much as he felt was possibly to aid in intimidation for the meeting. Uzi under the shoulder, Predator in the small of his back, and '97 on a sling. "If this is an ambush for someone I pissed off, at least I won't go down without a fight." There was also, of course, the one weapon they couldn't take away. Or at least, couldn't take away without removing his arm first.

Lefty opened up the engine once he cleared the docks, and followed the directional finder in his AR view towards where the coordinates for the meeting was to take place.

Heka stood on the outcropping just beyond the Seattle Aquarium, looking out across the water. The mescaline was just hitting its peak, and the few stars he could see through the haze of chemicals and pollution over the Sound trembled and sang to him. The pounding surf was a language, speech that he could almost comprehend. Everything was alive. It was beautiful.

He opened his eyes to the astral and all of that teeming life began to glow in his vision, the chorus of the Earth blazing in his ears. He planted his feet in the sand, spread his arms wide, and added his voice to the song; he shouted the tune, first merging his voice with it and then slowly, subtly, altering the song being sung and leading it into a new form. Soon it was not a tale of the Earth's presence in all things; it became a chant, a summons of power, as Heka forced himself upon the sea and took control.

He sang, and called, and within a minute a new voice answered him. It was a counterpoint to his harmony, a servile answer to his demands, and the owner of the voice rose from the sea and stood before him. He bade it to manifest and looked over his servitor. It was stout, like him, but nearly two meters tall. Its features were a mix of amphibian and fish, with glistening green scales and sharp fangs, nearly tusks, protruding from its snout. Seaweed hung from it, dripping water. Sharp claws tipped its webbed fingers and toes.

"You will take me out to the Sound, little demon," Heka told the spirit. Clumsily he got up on the spirit's back, piggyback style, and pointed out towards the water. "Go."

A good distance from shore, "El Viajero" Floats quietly in the dark, dangerously close to Shiawase's man made island and its surrounding sea border. Anyone approaching would notice the dim lights on deck, a few circling roto drones, and a small fishing boat nearby that seems almost unmanned. Six armed suits wait on the yacht to greet the guests as they arrive and escort them to the seating on deck. On the Astral plane the scene is much more vibrant. A shimmering ward Barrier Surrounds the ship like a sheath of magic, and a wind spirit swirls around the ship like a ghost, bored, but vigilant.

As the dwarf gets closer to the coordinates in the message he'd received, he frowns a bit at the ward he can see placed around the boat. Clearly whoever set this up is very concerned about their security. Heka would prefer to be able to just stride up to the boat but that may not be an issue. But if he had the spirit take him back to rent a boat, he'd miss the meeting. Decisions, decisions...

Reining the spirit in like an errant horse, Heka considers the ward for a few moments; with a shake of his head he urges the spirit forward slowly. At the edge of the barrier the dwarf puts his hands up against the astral energies. He pushes--not with his hands, but his will--and tells the ward to open for him, to let him through.

The dwarf astride his water demon, slides up to the ship in its shimmering shield. The Spirit of air swoops down as an eagle made of clouds, streaming wispy trails in its wake. It makes a pass of Heka, emitting a long and lyrical scream. The ward begins to part at Heka's touch, and inside he is greeted by another of the magical world. the figure of a man, his form hovering large and beastly, gestures to the two to come aboard. As the Dwarf is delivered to the vessel, his spirit sees its task as complete, and vanishes beneath the waves.

Lefty pulls his small boat up to the much larger vessel. "Well", he thought to himself. "They aren't messing around with security." He pushed the Assault Rifle over his shoulder and climbed up onto the larger boat.

"I presume you're going to want this?" He said to the Guards, opening his jacket to show the Uzi under his shoulder.

Professor takes possession of the rented boat and moves out into the Sound. Keeping his perceptions open to the astral, he approaches the Classique and circles it, looking for anomalies from the standard design. Interesting that it is so close to corporate territory.

After a detailed survey of the environs, he approaches the boat and moves up to a loading port and revs down to a halt beside the ladder. He waits for acknowledgment to board the boat. He makes ready a belay rope to tie off to the larger boat. He ensures that his Power Focus is deactivated as he passes through the protective barrier. Once through hre activates it again.

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10:56 PM, hovering over Puget sound

Oswald hung suspended over the water. Hanging out and hanging back. He watched the small black rental dingy piloted by his robot as it cut engines and the bot stood to move towards the front of the boat. Commander Shankles hadn't flown himself in years. In fact, he couldn't quite remember the last time. But doing so this time was a breeze. Who would have thought that this drone blimp could carry a passenger, and an armored seat as well? Certainly not a sane man.. But he had fixed it up nicely. Gotten the perfect balance. He even draped a spare black bedsheet over the gun so as not to appear threatening. Hopefully these rebels appreciated that..

"Come on Danny boy... give him the rope."

He had spent a good portion of that evening providing the robot with instruction and practicing it with the dingy's outboard motor. It was almost enough to make him nostalgic.

Hans walked to the docks and stopped dead in his tracks. Checked the indicator for the meet coordinates again. You've got to be kidding me... How did I not realize that this was in the middle of the water not on it?! Frag me! Letting out a heavy sigh he fortified himself and began strolling very demurely along the docks looking for either a less than well defended boat, or an establishment that might be open renting boats at this odd hour. Great, first job interview in the new city and you're probably going to have to steal a boat to get there...great...

CaperDiscreetly scrambling for transport, Hans scans the docks. Several small sailing ships are dark and vacant. A fishing style vessel seems to be occupied by one large and wobbly man pissing over the side. Another peir over is a couple of speedboats and a handful of rowdy party goers hanging out on the dock. There is still some foot traffic, but not much on the docks themselves. The water seems relitively calm as well, a few small crafts comming and going. Cameras are sparse, but present. Any other security seems to be left to the ships owners.

10:57 "El Viajero", in the Sound

The Professor is met cordially by the armed guards. A dark man in a muscle stuffed suit gives him a once over and motions towards the deck, where seating has been arranged and two women in cocktail dresses wait to serve from a small wet bar. A finely dressed dwarf has already arrived, and seems to be making himself comfortable. Shortly behind him, Lefty boards the ship. The welcome wagon takes a little more care with him, relieving him of the assault rifle and sub-machine gun. They assure him that his property will be safely returned. The men seem like fairly competent security. They were all human save for one troll, who seemed to be guarding the door that led below deck. No obvious weaponry larger than the SMG's, that were slung over the shoulders of three of them. Glasses hid their eyes. The only obvious cyber was the troll's hand, and perhaps arm, and another guard with a gleaming chrome skull. On the Astral plane, the gentlemen are nearly shadows silhouetted in the light of the magical ward. Their souls clinging to what little remains from their birth. As a small craft approaches, piloted by a ManServant, one of the men looked to the Troll quizzically. The Troll hit a button by the door, some kind of intercom system,"You guys expecting a robot?" A voice replied,"we are aware of the situation, It's green" The Troll nods, and a light skinned guard with shaggy brown hair takes the rope from the robot and helps him aboard.

10:58 "El Viajero", in Puget Sound"Well... I'm not dead or in chains. Guess this wasn't Blind Man's trap." Professor scans the room, nods to the two others already there, and goes to the bar. "Perrier water, please, with a twist of lemon."

He takes his drink and joins the other dwarf. "Hmm... Awakened. And something else. I haven't seen that before, a -shift- in his aura. Is he on something?""Good evening."

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